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Damian woke up excited and bounded out of bed and down to the kitchen. “Good morning, Pennyworth!” he cheered, smiling.
Alfred startled, but smiled back, handing him a plate of breakfast. “Indeed, Master Damian.”
“Say, do you know the number of the courthouse? Father and Jordan will most likely appreciate it if I make arrangements for their wedding right away.”
“They’re not getting married immediately,” Drake called from the island, where he was still nursing his first cup of coffee.
Damian snorted. “Why not?”
Tim gave him that Look that he saved for when he didn’t understand some American convention or the other, but then his gaze turned thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment of thought. “Everyone does it, mostly because ceremonies take so long to prepare, I guess.”
Damian waved his hand dismissively. “Paperwork can be done now, ceremonies later.”
Tim shrugged. “Probably also because it’s much easier to call off an engagement than it is to get divorced. People fall out of love all the time. Best to be sure.”
Damian frowned, then wolfed down his breakfast before heading back upstairs.
Hal woke to gentle but insistent kisses under his ear. He groaned and pushed Bruce’s face away. “Don’t want to.”
Bruce chuckled and kissed his ring.
Hal sighed and brought it in front of his face to look at.
“You like it, yes?” Bruce asked.
“Love it,” Hal said. He twisted the silver band three times, like he remembered in Beauty and the Beast. “How are you ever going to top this with the wedding rings?”
Bruce hummed and leaned down to kiss him on the lips. “I have a few ideas.”
The door burst open, then, and Bruce yanked the sheet over their chests in pure reflex, just before a very excited eleven-year-old landed in their laps. “When do you plan on having the wedding?” Damian asked.
Hal shrugged and shared a look with his fiance. “Fall wedding?”
“No,” Bruce said immediately. “Halloween season in Gotham is the worst time of all.”
Hal shrugged. “Then we don’t get married in Gotham. You’re a billionaire, don’t you have some exotic destination in mind?”
“I was thinking that for the honeymoon.”
Hal snorted. “We’re superheroes, we’ll be lucky to have our wedding disaster-free, and do you really want to leave the kids alone for that long?”
“Aruba?” Bruce asked. “Or Santorini?”
“What about Lagos?”
“Nigeria?”
“Portugal.”
Bruce hummed. “Maybe in mid- to late-September. We’ll see.”
Damian choked. “September?! That’s five months away!” He frowned. “You must be speaking of the ceremony. But when do you plan on getting married?”
“Paperwork?” Hal asked. “Probably after the ceremony, if we’re traveling.” He pointed at Bruce. “I fully intend on taking your last name, and I don’t want to have to mess around with travel documents last minute.”
Bruce gave him an amused look. “Of course, Mr. Harold Wayne.”
“I take it back, I’ll hyphenate.”
Damian pouted, there was no other word for it.
“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked.
Damian shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. He frowned in thought, then nodded decisively. “I’ll make sure there’s nothing wrong.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Hal said. “C’mere.”
Damian yelped playfully as Hal grabbed him and tickled him until he accidentally kicked his father in the face. They exchanged a look and bolted downstairs, Hal in his sleep pants, Damian still in his pajamas.
Bruce smiled, despite the forming bruise. And to think he’d once worried they wouldn’t get along….
That evening, Damian snuck away during patrol, heading down to the sewers armed with nothing but Big Belly Burger and a heat lamp. He perched on a service ladder and waited.
Soon enough, Killer Croc emerged from the filth, eyeing the gifts warily.
Damian waved a hand over them. “For you. Payment for services rendered.”
Waylon snorted, but grabbed the food and tucked in. “What services?”
“Sometime next week, don’t tell me when, I need you to cause minor property damage and lure Batman and Green Lantern through this area of the tunnels.” Damian pulled out a map and pointed.
Waylon squinted, then nodded. “That’s it?”
Damian nodded. “That’s it.”
“What happens when they get there?”
“Nothing.” Damian shrugged. “I would simply like to remind them of their beginnings. I will place tracking devices on each and once they have passed through this section, I will call them to deal with a bigger emergency. There will be no harm to yourself.” He handed over the heat lamp. “In fact, once it’s done, I’ll bring you as many of these as you want. It can’t be too comfortable, being cold-blooded and trapped in the dampness and dark.”
Waylon grunted and nodded. “Deal. But if you mess something up, after I do my job, you’re the one breaking me out of Arkham.”
Damian nodded and held out his hand to shake. “Deal.”
He grinned. This would be perfect….
It did not go perfectly.
On the night Jones chose, Batman and Green Lantern followed him into the sewers as planned.
They reached the target location as planned.
However, there they found the Joker, who had not yet been discovered missing from Arkham.
They argued, they were injured, and Jones escaped like the coward he was.
Damian wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth on his bed. No, he couldn’t blame Killer Croc, he had only been contracted to bring them there, not to assist them if they found any trouble.
Still, Father and Jordan weren’t speaking to each other, and it was all his fault.
Damian sighed and wrenched his limbs away from their ball of self-pity. The honorable thing to do would be to confess.
He took the few steps out of his room and down the hall, peeking into his parents’ bedroom. The thought that Jordan was his parent shocked him, but he acknowledged it was true and dashed in.
“You need to be more careful,” Bruce grunted.
Hal rolled his eyes. “I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but I’m a grown ass man and if I want to step in front of a gun to keep you from being shot in the face, I’m going to do it. Only one of us is bullet-proof.”
“Yes, but only when he’s concentrating. You were distracted.”
“Because you were in danger!”
The two stood, fuming, glaring at each other across their bed.
“Next time,” Bruce said slowly, “don’t save me.”
Hal’s mouth dropped open and he struggled for words. Finally, he flopped down and rolled over, looking at the wall. “Goodnight, Bruce.” He waited a good long while before he felt the bed dip. Part of him wished he would wrap an arm around him like always, part of him was grateful he didn’t. He settled more firmly into the pillow and mattress, staring at the curtains as he waited for sleep to come.
Some two hours later, a shaft of light appeared from the doorway, and someone small crawled onto the foot of the bed.
“Damian?” Hal asked, resisting the urge to slap Bruce for pretending to still be asleep.
“It’s my fault,” Damian whispered, wrapping his arms around himself. “I contracted Croc to lead you into the tunnels. I didn’t know Joker was down there. Be mad at me, just don’t be mad at each other.”
Finally, Bruce shifted, looking his son straight in the eye. “Why?” he asked.
Damian shrugged. “It was where you met, when Darkseid came. I wanted you to remember.”
Hal glanced at Bruce and saw the subtle twitch of his lips. He laughed. “Guess we did.” He gestured for Damian to come closer. “What did you want us to remember, though?”
Damian settled between them. “I….” He struggled for words. “I don’t want you to fall out of love.”
Hal and Bruce exchanged a look over Damian’s head.
Bruce awkwardly draped his arm over his son’s shoulders. “I didn’t know that was a concern of yours.”
“Drake said it was why you were taking so long to get married. Because it’s easier to call off an engagement than it is to finalize a divorce.” Damian looked pointedly away from Hal.
Bruce made an uncharacteristically soft noise and scrambled for the bedside table, finally pulling out a sheaf of papers and pen. He handed them to Hal, mouthing ‘If you want to.’
Hal frowned, but scanned the pages. “Huh.” He passed them to Damian. “Whadya think, Pits’l? You wanna legally be my kid forever and ever?”
Damian’s eyes went wide. “Pen,” he ordered, then frantically signed his name everywhere it was required before handing the packet back to Hal. “What do I call you now?”
Hal shrugged and filled out the rest. “Dad, Papa, Pops, Tate, Fater, just Hal, whatever you want, except Harold.”
“Fater is too close to Father.” Damian pursed his lips. “Tate.” He nodded to himself.
Hal smiled and ruffled his hair. “I like that one.”
“Damian.” Bruce pulled him close. “There are two things I need you to understand. The first is that five months is an incredibly short time in which to schedule a wedding. The second is that all couples fight. Hal and I are going to argue. It doesn’t mean we’re falling out of love. Do you understand?”
Damian nodded.
“Good.” Hal handed the papers back to Bruce so he could fill out his small portion, then pulled Damian to his side and pressed a kiss to his temple. “The wedding’s still on. Maybe you can help us with the planning.”
“No ninjas,” Bruce said, immediately.
“Uh-huh,” Hal said, winking at Damian. “For starters, you’re an artist. What color scheme would be best for us for a September wedding?”
Damian frowned in thought, then nodded. “Green and gold. Like your ring and Father’s utility belt.”
Hal grinned at Bruce. “Told you no black.”
Damian looked appalled at the very idea.
“I was joking.”
“Sure, you were.”